This end-time feelingA sheep on the side of a hillIs no war gracing The imagination's cavern clubWith bituminous barkyardIntimacy radios, But a shall-I winter sportNaturally shown the dayAs a persistenceCloud-like i.e. formedBy vanishing from the earthTo loom. It lowers the eyesTo deduce the slip of made Room coasts, oh vinylIn clack-rates caramelPin fastening the numbEntry page to astound blue night.Quoth the meridian,Right, and indeed,Coffee swathed A cold glow into a cot.The dream of a miniature,A pantone grommetListing for reference to the tradeThe facial expressions,The speaking heart rate...I can stage that rejectionIn four brief notes.The newsweekliesArrive long after law and unions Are printed on rocks.